


Aftermath

by leporidae



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 09:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13877805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporidae/pseuds/leporidae
Summary: Life moves on faster than people do.





	Aftermath

War ravages its citizens not just emotionally but physically, and though grief cannot be patched with stitches and healed with a cleric’s magic, wounds can. As the future – no, the _current_ king of Renais – Ephraim knows it’s his duty to put his people first, no matter how much damage he has sustained, no matter how much he has bled, no matter how long his own forehead had been pressed against the ground in silent worthless prayer just hours before as he cried at the death of his best friend by his own hands.

Ephraim is the last of his own army to be treated by the healers, a decision of his own design. The pain of his wounds hardly registers in his own limbs, numbed by the incongruous sensation of defeat despite their victory. Still, he prefers to be treated alone so that fewer individuals bear witness to his troubled thoughts and crushing exhaustion unbefitting of royalty.

Of course, emotional solace is not meant to be. The Frelian prince Innes clearly had harbored a similar idea, and now it is just the two of them alone in the infirmary, silence so tense that Ephraim can practically hear Innes’s displeased thoughts every time a judgmental glare is thrown his direction.

“You’ve sustained quite a number of injuries,” Innes says dryly, just as Ephraim is considering speaking up himself. “Even for fighting in a war. You’re an utter fool of a prince, charging to the frontlines with no regards for your prolonged survival.”

Ephraim’s lips quirk upward into a crooked smile. “Fool _king,_ actually.”

An ugly snarl flickers across Innes’s face for but a moment, a fleeting storm cloud Ephraim isn’t quite sure if he had imagined. “My apologies,” Innes says coolly, gaze boring into him with an intensity that would have caused a more fainthearted individual to quail. “It was not my intention to disregard the fate of your father.”

A low chuckle rumbles in Ephraim’s throat. “He’s dead, Innes.”

The Frelian prince narrows his eyes, a petulant child on the verge of unleashing a barbed argument. “Of course he is,” he retorts. “I never suggested otherwise.”

For once he doesn’t wish to fight. “No need to beat around the bush. He’s dead – and so is Lyon, before you mention his _fate_ as well. You’ve never sugarcoated your words around me before, so why now?”

A quiet stretches between them as vast as the distance between their respective kingdoms, during which Innes runs his hand through his bangs. The locks fall back on his forehead haphazardly, and he grimaces. “You’re not ready to be a king.”

Ephraim considers the words, foot tapping a steady beat on the ground. What does that even entail, being _ready?_ Accepting the mantle of responsibility thrust upon his shoulders and tamping down his near-animalistic thirst for battle coursing through his veins are different matters entirely; if the latter is the prerequisite for embracing kinghood, then perhaps Innes is right. The instinct of a free-spirited mercenary still influences his fleeting fantasies, causing him to yearn for a life without royal shackles in which he could cast aside his very identity and let the tip of his lance alone guide him across Magvel. But childish daydreams of adventure are also not suitable for a king.

“I have to be,” Ephraim replies simply. “When I learned of my father’s death, that future became inevitable. Eirika’s talent for rebuilding Renais comes from her compassion, which would be better utilized without the added pressure of the throne.”

“But it’s not what you _want_.”

“Is that what you _want,_ Innes? To become the King of Frelia?”

“Of course,” the other replies without a moment’s hesitation. “To make Frelia the greatest and most prosperous nation it can possibly be, with the full support of my people and impeccable foreign relations – it is something I have dreamed about since before I can remember, and I intend to follow through with that plan.”

Ephraim grins. “How many times have you rehearsed those words in the mirror?”

“Shut up, you damn idiot,” Innes snaps, and Ephraim’s smirk grows wider. This is the Innes he remembers fondly, the uptight child who would tattle on Ephraim to his father when he pulled his hair, the young adolescent who stole Ephraim away from public gatherings to engage in personal competitions, the man who glares at Ephraim on the battlefield whenever he does something flashy or reckless. “This is truly how I feel. Perhaps if you channeled even a fraction of my resolve, you would make a better ruler.”

“I have plenty of my own resolve,” Ephraim replies airily. “I don’t need yours.”

Innes turns up his nose at him but says nothing, and not for the first time a pit of frustration bubbles within Ephraim. The separation between them has always seemed so vast, but now that one of them bears the title of _king_ while the other remains _prince_ , even their usual banter is so far out of reach. Involuntarily Ephraim thinks of Gerik, the man who lives a mercenary’s life unbound by lineage and whose path in life has taken him to Innes’s side, quite possibly to remain there forever. In a more fortuitous world, perhaps that role would be played by Ephraim instead, a union of wit and strength unmarred by politics. Even now, as he observes the sour frown upon Innes’s lips and the unflinching chill of his expression, Ephraim can’t help but feel a bit of a thrill at the thought.

Of all the reasons he is unfit to be king, this by far is the most troubling.

“Then,” Innes finally replies, and Ephraim startles as the cold drawl breaks through his thoughts, “I hope that resolve serves you well, _King of Renais._ ”

From now on, the distance between them would only continue to widen. The next time they meet will not be in the midst of a childish competition, but on opposing sides of a gathering between kingdoms, discussing trade and politics and everything but what Ephraim truly wanted from him.

No, of course Ephraim is not ready to be a king. But if that’s what it takes to keep up with Innes, then by the gods he will be one. Because when they meet again as kings, Ephraim yearns at the very least to earn a few meager scraps of the other’s respect.

(He yearns for more, of course, but alas - this lifetime has not aligned that way.)

“I hope for the same.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta love how the first fic I post for this fandom is just 1000+ words of pure misery.
> 
> ...I'll write something cuter later.


End file.
